El pasado 31 de Marzo publiqué Duelo sin respuesta , un artículo en el que hacia constar las dificultades por las que estábamos pasando con la burocracia cubana y española. Han pasado casi dos meses desde que Carlos nos dejó, y seguimos esperando por sus pertenencias y por la documentación que nos tienen que enviar desde Cuba, que por lo visto y vivido es un país de otra galaxia , donde ni los sentimientos ni la eficacia ni la seriedad tienen cabida.
Entre las muchas muestras de cariño que estamos recibiendo por parte de los buenos amigos , una muy especial ,Francesca Maruffi, ha traducido ese post a inglés y a italiano ( click aquí para la versión en italiano ) . Para darle voz a esta situación.
Quiero darte las gracias Francesca, por dejar un trocito de tu corazón en Galicious.
Y antes de la traducción, sus emotivas palabras a modo de sentido homenaje.
He would often tell me if I ended up alone old and alone, we would live together in a small place somewhere, anywhere, so that neither one of us would end up alone, even if he would never be. He would tell me this because he was aware of how much I feared loneliness. And after all, he passed away before me. The first question you ask yourself is why? Then your thoughts turn to the family and the unspeakable pain that they must face. It is unimaginable and unrelenting. I am translating this article which was written by the sister in law of my dear friend who passed away in a mysterious car accident in Cuba. I asked her permission before completing this translation and she agreed. There is obviously no way to console their pain. And perhaps making his story known to the world, and the extent to which bureaucracy/red tape can be cruel, cynical, and even evil only amounts to adding another drop of water to the sea. But what is the sea if not many drops of water? Francesca Maruffi
15 days passed before we were able to bury Carlos.” The pain, the condolences, the sense of loss that tears at our souls the are indescribable. The battle, however, is not finished. We must continue to fight to understand what happened and where Carlo’s personal effects ended up in the mysterious event that caused his death. Until now, there have been no answers.
After having left no stone unturned, after knocking on every door and despite the absolute indifference of bureaucracy, the consulates, the embassies, and the many airlines, we were able to bury him fifteen days after that fateful phone call we received the day after his death.
He arrived in Lugo at night, under the cover of snow.
The funeral was the 23rd of March, a day which brought snow and torrential rains mixed with intermittent breaks of sun. Carlos was always special, even in death.
I want to thank all those who were by our sides, for their help and support. I want to thank those who gave us strength and those who grieved with us: family, friends, colleagues, bosses . . . everyone. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Thank you to Ana and Melu de Acaso Lugo. Thank you. At our most pressing moment, we met two people like you: so caring, sweet, and available to help us with everything. There are no words to thank you for being so close to us in this difficult time. You were always ready with a smile and a kind word.
The anguish begins now.
Until this point, we had lived only the first part of the nightmare: the impact of his death, the days our family spent waiting to get back his body, the uncertainty, and the funeral. This is supposed to be when one gradually learns to live with a hole in one’s heart. To us this is unacceptable. We must continue to fight, to swallow the pain, to fight to understand what happened that fateful day. We only know that it was a car accident. We must fight to get back his things. Yes, his body has been returned to us but his things remain there including his telephone that likely contains his final photographs, his unmistakable aviator sunglasses, the rest of his clothes, his house keys, his documents. We know nothing.
In addition to the painful bureaucratic process that colors these terrible moments, we have to fight against the indifference and the passivity of all the entities and organizations that are supposed to help in these situations. Four days have passed since I sent my last unanswered email. We want to be able to rest and to try to staunch our bleeding wounds.
Since March 23rd, the day we buried Carlos, we have not received any further word from the authorities. If they really are doing something to investigate what happened, we know nothing about it. As with everything else, no one from the consulate, or any other authority has told us when the accident occurred. It was Carlos’ friend who was traveling with him who found the strength to call us from his hospital bed to give us the terrible news. It was he who told us to call the authorities.
The task of calling the Matanzas Provincial Hospital rested with me. And only after screaming and much insistence I was able to learn from the third person passed to me on the telephone that “my relative was killed in an auto accident.” And the ambassador? The consulate? If we had to wait for them to communicate with us, we would still be waiting.
Last night I went to mass at the Lugo Cathedral and we prayed for him. Who knows if it will make a difference, even if he might not be able to hear us. When we exited the church, we were assailed by an icy-cold wind and strong rains. Heaven was angry with me, with everyone. And instead of calming my anger, my pain worsened with each passing hour.
I don’t understand the insensitivity of humanity and the lack of empathy of both countries’ consulates. I cannot comprehend that they don’t understand how necessary it is for us to know what happened. It’s inhuman that they keep us so wracked with pain, in suspense from the uncertainty, left alone to rearrange papers and to wait hours next to the telephone. We want to know what happened and to get back Carlos’ things. Or maybe given that everything happened in Cuba we have to accept the possibility that everything is lost, not only his possessions, but also the truth.
We are made to believe that that the ambassadors and the consulates exist to defend our rights and to help if something should happen to us while abroad. Well, this doesn’t seem to be the case. I continue to think the same thing that I wrote to them?. And they lament what we say and think about them. Well, if they want us to change our mind, then they had better start to do something to prove their worth.